


sunshine

by sapphskies



Series: song fics ! [1]
Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Childhood Memories, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Multi, Past Relationship(s), Song fic, Sunshine - Freeform, han jisung's lyrics are sacred, i hope this gives you as much comfort as this song has given me, treehouse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:21:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28249797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sapphskies/pseuds/sapphskies
Summary: ◛ ⋆•˚☄  【 jisung reminsces over the small traces of life left within the┊. ｡˚✧           familiar shade of a particular treehouse 】
Relationships: Han Jisung | Han & Everyone
Series: song fics ! [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2069442
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	sunshine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ninuwu](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=ninuwu).



> hello ! welcome to "i resonate with this song so much that i needed to formualte a short story around it just to express how much i love it wooo"
> 
> real talk sunshine is such a beautiful song i could talk about it for days if anyone would like to listen to my essays hmu :]   
> ty han jisung i love u u mf genius

What was Jisung supposed to make out of a sunshine peering over the leaves of a slightly worn , memory-embedded overgrowth?

The sight wasn’t just odd, it was a confoundment that even after all of this time, he could not compel himself to decipher. The recurring image of a treehouse that had long ago been emptied and abandoned for loss of time and loss of memory.

Jisung was just lucid enough to gather his surroundings, to look up from his feet that lay crossed over, where his back sat up against the length of the tree’s trunk. His gaze almost instantly meets that of sunlight that barely peers over bunches of leaves, vinery, and of course, the roof of the forested platform that makes up the treasured treehouse his mind couldn’t seem to get over the sight of.

The brevity of warm zephyr against profoundly warm skin, the pockets of fake illumination that peeks through remnants of Jisung’s childhood, the tantalizing whispers of past laughter, past harmony, past happiness.

Past, past, past. It was all in the past.

Was this meant to be comforting? When he was confounded to this single spot, forced to endure the wills of the artificial, fantasy-built sun that stood over him like a monster scrutinizing its next victim; was he supposed to feel comforted?

For sunshine never felt as comforting as it used to anymore. Summer tales and forest journeys didn’t taste as sweet, even in simple recollection.

It just hurt. And that hurt only tightened and worsened and tore through every measly attempt Jisung could make to move on, to forget. With every new layer of conviction from its tyranny, it continues to slash through, to find him, even within the confines of supposed protection.

And despite all of this, the pattern repeats itself. The dream reoccurs and reoccurs and spends away at his courage through every reoccurrence. Where days feel shorter, nights feel longer. And where sleep welcomes him after lengthy torment, his nightmarish dreams shun him.

All of the work, all of the effort, all of the agonizing episodes of grief and remembering, and Jisung is back on square one because of a stupid dream that has implemented itself into his psyche so far through, that it feels as if he’s returned to visiting the treehouse in real time. That he’s forced to relive the day that’s driven him to endure the insolence of loneliness for as long as he’s still forced to remember.

That was the problem. Remembering.

The more he remembered, the more he instilled the image of 7 other boys meandering through a shrub-worn path, their figures blending in with the shine of sunlight and their voices interweaving with the alluring murmurs of summer wind that passes through scraggly hair.

They reach the treehouse, and their unrivalled havoc causes a scene by the ladder, wherein Chan has to ensure that Jisung and Changbin don’t knock each other over, and that everyone can climb on safely.

Seungmin steps back momentarily, taking the opportunity to snap a few shots of the boys making their way into the treehouse, so he could later plaster them onto his scrapbook for safekeeping.

_Jisung still kept his camera and his scrapbook locked away somewhere within the rubble and mess of his closet. His mother encouraged him to look through them, that maybe he’ll gain some sort of closure. He never has._

The treehouse is littered with papers of varying colours, some of which account for Jeongin’s daydream-induced doodles, Seungmin’s daily recounts accompanied by Minho’s arbitrary modifications, Hyunjin’s lists of things he’d like for Christmas – even though it was July.

The treehouse is littered with anything and everything that _screamed_ all 8 of them. It lived and breathed for them, so in a sense, when they stopped going there, it died with them.

Jisung died with it. He was still breathing and had a vessel through which he could walk up to it and feel its real wood against his fingertips. The others weren’t as lucky.

But in a much more real sense, he _wasn’t_. He wasn’t really living anymore. The face he sees in the mirror is a ghastly amalgamation of the Jisung that was able to create happy memories for the future and hold onto hope that it would mean something then.

 _That_ Jisung would’ve been devastated to learn of his dreadful fate.

It all seems like a brash recycling of an old routine, so that’s exactly what Jisung expects to endure one seemingly paltry night, when his eyelids forcefully fall over his eyes again, and he’s awoken to the same pungency of open air and fluttering leaves.

This time, however, he’s not alone.

There’s 7 with him. They’re all sat within the same circle as him, leaning against the girth of the large tree trunk that used to inhabit their lively souls.

They don’t speak, they don’t murmur, they barely utter a breath. But Jisung feels their presence, and that’s all the reassurance he needs to feel their embraces against his again, to feel their ever-binding souls intertwine with his seamlessly.

And he cries. He cries so much that sobs rack through his entire body and his cries echo across the wide evergreen surrounding them. But it’s different than the other times. This time, they hold him, and he feels them against his shaking body.

This time, he lets himself absorb any of the light the enticing sunshine has to offer. He lets them wound themselves around his worn-out character.

He lets himself remember.


End file.
